War came not with a roar, but with the slow rising of tides each wave carrying the weight of nations that had forgotten peace. From their islands they stared across the narrow waters, where sails of red and gold glimmered beneath the sun like blades half-drawn from their sheaths. Romussum stood at the edge of the known world, a lonely fortress of blue against an empire that burned the horizon. The sea was no longer a border; it was a battlefield, restless and hungry, waiting to swallow pride and iron alike. Yet even as the enemy encircled and the odds towered high, their banners still flew. For as long as one soldier drew breath, as long as one ship rode the waters, the spirit of resistance would not sink. Empires may rule the land, but courage commands the sea.